Seven Cliques and a Clack

RTT reports there are seven social groups in his high school: the nerds, the anime crowd, the “normals” (among which he counts himself), the preppies, the stoners, the metal heads and the ghetto blacks.

“What, no jocks?” I say, scandalized.

He snorts. “Mom, organized sports are so uncool.”

New Roots is a charter school that opened in Ithaca just this year with an enrollment of around a hundred kids, most of them home schooled up till now. It wasn’t my first choice for RTT. I wanted to send him to the local high school in Dryden, only three miles away. See, I didn’t want to get stuck schlepping him all the way into Ithaca on those days when (as will inevitably happen) he oversleeps.

RTT actually tracked New Roots down himself, filled out the application online, then presented the proposition to me when shortly after our last contretemps I snarled, “Well the good news is that Dryden starts Monday.”

I very reluctantly allowed myself to be dragged to an interview with the principal. Website mission statement states that New Roots is committed to sustainability and social justice. RTT has never shown the slightest interest in recycling, and his idea of “social justice” is that I should allow him to stay up till three in the morning every night and let him sleep over at his friends’ houses all weekend without insisting upon meeting their parents first. Still the instant I saw it – housed in the historic old Clinton House, variegated assortment of obviously creative kids such that you might think you were attending an audition for Fame 3 ¬– it was obvious that this was a great fit for RTT. Who knows, maybe he’ll absorb the uplifting social agenda by osmosis.

One of the things I like about New Roots is that the school day starts at 9:00 AM. There’s been a lot of research supporting a later start to the school day for this age group, and of course this means he can indulge in his Night Owl proclivities in moderation. Also the Dean of Students is this no bullshit Panamanian gentleman, looks like he’d be right at home policing Cellblock 9 at Pelican Bay! So I get to rest a little easier on the herbal contraband front.

What else?

What I Wrote Yesterday: About 1500 words. Of course I was convinced it was all shit and thus had to do that dissociative personality thang of dividing myself into two parts, Stephen King (Throw. Carrie. In. Trash) and his wife Tabitha, (No! No! This may be the keystone to a fabulously lucrative writing career such that one day you’ll be able to review Raymond Carver biographies in The New York Times!)

What I’m Reading: The Song Is You, Arthur Phillips. Carl A’s recommendation. It’s very well written. I should like it. But oddly, I don’t.

Practical Shit I Accomplished: Closed down the Palo Alto post office box.

Bad Things That Happened: Car battery died mysteriously over night. For that twenty minutes until Triple A arrived to jumpstart it, the world was not a happy place. In some respects I’m lucky: I’ve always tended to view my life as though I was an anthropologist doing field work; extreme poverty is no better or worse an adventure than moderate wealth from that perspective. But if I didn’t have a functional car, I wouldn’t be able to get to work. And then we would starve. I think it would be difficult to maintain an observational distance if I was actually starving.